The Wave

Behind a line of sand –
Sunswept hills
And island after island of memory.
If I jump forward now,
Can I ever go back?
But the wave is sweeping in
And with unbridled joy I ride it,
Till bamboo shoots and roots
Snag me,
And I must go to the dojo,
Eat and breathe and sleep
Under the eyes of stern Senseis,
Till once again all is clear
And the sea sweeps in,
Unbridled.

submitted for the Thursday Poets Rally Week 52

Unblemished

Unblemished like the sky,
My love
for all I’ll never know.
These words just a poem;
A recipe,
That’ll never add up
To you

Tap the Well

Shall I tap the well today
Dig deep for gems
And bring up tears?
Fill up the moment
With lost years?
Tunnel the trench between
Mundanium and the world
Yet to come?
Reach out a hand;
A shadow on the wall
And see the other side
Reach back?
I think i’ll tap the well
Today

Featherlight

Featherlight tip toes
moss stones across the river
Flowing without pause

Object of my desire

Gooseberry poets
Eat the bitter earth but spit sweet on hungry paper,
Cloying fermented words
Much more than crushed grapes
Finally makes me tell you,
You’re all I desire.
Objective reached but never conquered
Proud sea
Let me lose myself in you

The Twin Towers

Ten years ago the world was stunned by an act of infamy.
The Twin Towers, beautiful buildings admired the world over
Were destroyed by a terrorist attack.
Many lost their lives in the flaming wreckage,
But even from a terrible evil, good can spring.
There were tales of heroism and resilience as the most powerful country in the world pulled together within an hour,
The hand of friendship was extended from across the world.
Whites, blacks, Muslims and atheists came together
And for a moment the world looked forward at a golden era.
The terrorists had picked too big a target,
They’d given a green light to fix the world
And destroyed themselves.
‘Build them again’ said a man who escaped the Towers, ‘and I’d work there again’
One simple line, so much power.
Show the world you’re not afraid
To rebuild the lost beauty of those Towers,
Whilst fixing the inside, making them stronger from within,
Filled with passion for life, not hate, they would be a symbol of hope for the world.
But this wonderful chance was squandered,
There was no clear target for the angry men to strike back at,
But they looked hard and long and twisted by emotion found an excuse,
Who knows whether they were right or wrong,
But the bombs kept falling first on one country then another
And the hand of friendship so freely extended was lost
As the world took the darker path.
But even from a terrible evil, good can spring.
America grew sick of violence, sick of fear
Another man stood up and said there can be change,
When the world moves as one
And the hand of friendship is offered freely.
Ten years ago the Twin Towers died, they were beautiful
They should have been rebuilt stronger than before.
Mourn not the lost, remember the Towers
Build them in your heart
And you can never be destroyed by the world
And maybe, just maybe you’ll make the world a better place.

Mozart

It is not about having all the answers.
If you had them ahead of time,
You’d get it wrong somehow.
Miss-time, jump the gun or wait too long.
You have to know,
It will be there when needed:
Ideas that tumble from mind, mouth and pen like a jumbled tune.
But Mozart didn’t call endless notes a symphony,
He wrote one in it’s own time,
Letting it evolve into the next,
Letting the pauses stretch,
Letting the music build,
Making the most of each moment-
In the fullness of it’s flowering,
And not a moment to soon,
Unrushed-
Notes became music.
This is the way of he who has mastered the tumbling stream,
He who no longer seeks the future,
But lives the present,
Seeking answers,
By watching questions,
Answer themselves.

One moment

One  moment of time,
A teardrop in eternity
Or an endlessly flowing stream?
If we cannot permit it to be both,
We can never admit our own death,
Nor grow beyond the confines
Of our current life.

The feeling of completion

The feeling of completion
Momentary, ephemeral
Like a scene too big
For the scope of your camera’s lens,
Like the line you never meant to write,
A single breath
You’d be content to make your last-
Do we live on
Just to feel it’s presence one more time?

The Toy

Like playing with a toy;
Creativity,
Till the thing has no more juice,
No more possibility for games,
It dances in the child’s hands-
A thing of wonder
No mere piece of metal or plastic this –
It’s magic.
Till all permutations are gone,
Then to the attic for it,
Whilst new toys play out new scenes

In a growing, changing mind
With horizons further out of reach,
The old toy lies there unmoving,
Till cobwebs and dust make it magic once again
Full of the mysteries of a bygone age,
And then at last
The toy can play again.

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